Silent Knight, Lonely Knight
by Syl
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and all through Gotham a lonely Bat stirs.


Summary: It's Christmas Eve and all through Gotham a lonely Bat stirs.  
  
Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is   
an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback   
is welcome!  
  
Copyright November 2000  
  
****  
  
Silent Knight, Lonely Knight  
By Syl Francis  
  
****  
  
Batman allowed himself a small half-smile. Dick had sounded so disappointed, his   
voice impossibly young. But this was for the best. The storm front would hit   
soon. It was better that Dick postponed his trip home until daylight.  
  
He thought of their Christmas Eve family tradition of tree trimming, hot cocoa,   
and carols. He felt a little disappointed himself that Dick wouldn't be home   
tonight, but warmed at the idea of seeing his son in the morning. Batman turned   
to the job at hand.  
  
Earlier, the GCPD dispatcher had reported a robbery at Grimalkin Gifts, located   
in the historic Tri-Corner shopping district. Apparently, crime wasn't taking a   
holiday tonight.  
  
"Oracle?" he spoke softly in the comlink.  
  
"Here," Oracle answered instantly. "I thought you were going home, Bruce."  
  
"Later. I just picked up a 211 at Grimalkin Gifts. Located in the 2000 block of   
Kitling Drive. Do you have anything on that?"  
  
Oracle gave a short laugh. "You're kidding right?" His cold response told her he   
wasn't in a joking mood. She quickly cleared her throat and got down to   
business. "Okay...Grimalkin Gifts on Kitling Drive...an emerald crystalline   
figurine of a Maltese cat reported missing. Nothing else."  
  
"A crystalline cat? Interesting that they'd go to all that trouble and not take   
anything else."   
  
"Uh-huh," she said, sounding a bit distracted. He could imagine Barbara Gordon's   
serious features as she busily scanned over the myriad information available at   
her fingertips.  
  
"Don't you see?" she asked. "'Grimalkin'--that means an old female cat. And   
'Kitling'--"  
  
"--Is British dialect for cat," Batman finished. "I know. I was raised by an   
Englishman, remember?"  
  
Oracle snorted. "Yes, now if only you could cook and clean like him."  
  
"Catwoman," Batman said shortly, ignoring Oracle's attempt at light banter. She   
sighed.  
  
"Catwoman," she agreed. "Bruce, it's Christmas Eve. The wind chill must be 20   
below. Dick will be home in the morning. Let it go for tonight."   
  
"Can't," he said curtly.  
  
Batman cut communications and stood in the freezing wind, holding his heavy cape   
a little closer. He thought of the beautiful jewel thief known as the Catwoman.   
Three months ago he'd caught her on the roof of the Gotham City Museum of   
Gemology, which was displaying the priceless Russian Siberian Eye of the Tiger,   
a rare blue diamond...  
  
****  
  
"Can't a girl go for a walk at night without being stalked?" Catwoman pouted.   
She looked pointedly at his hand, which was tightly gripping her upper arm.   
  
"Most girls don't go for walks twenty stories straight up," Batman growled. She   
gave a throaty laugh.  
  
"I thought you knew by now that I'm not like most girls." As she spoke, Catwoman   
purposely moved closer to him, her hand reaching up and softly caressing his   
cheek.   
  
"I *like* a man with a close shave," she said huskily. Batman grabbed her wrists   
and in a single, swift motion, twisted her arms behind her back.   
  
Catwoman gasped involuntarily at the unexpected pain. Batman saw her eyes widen   
in uncertainty as she looked up at him. She was effectively a prisoner in his   
arms, their bodies tightly molded against each other.   
  
Batman glared at her, his emotions raging within. He was furious with himself   
for yet again allowing her to affect him, furious at her for being so beautiful   
and desirable, yet so casual about stealing from others. Abruptly, her   
expression went from fear to anger.  
  
"You can't hold me," she hissed. "I haven't done anything--"  
  
"--Yet!" he finished coldly. "I think you'll find that trespassing on public   
property with intention to commit grand larceny is still considered a crime in   
this city." But as he spoke, his hands somehow loosened their grip on her wrists   
and of their own accord moved to her narrow waist.  
  
Catwoman leaned against him, her head on his chest, her arms encircling him.   
"You say the most fascinating things," she whispered.   
  
Batman could feel her rapidly beating heart against him, a mirror to his own, he   
knew. He held her closer, their cheeks caressing, neither speaking. Her delicate   
whiskers softly tickled his face. Batman breathed in her scent while his hands   
ran down the contours of her body, memorizing every detail.   
  
Catwoman gasped involuntarily, and they suddenly locked gazes. He saw desire and   
open willingness in her wide emerald eyes, and realized that she saw the same in   
his. He knew that he was dangerously close to losing himself. For the briefest   
moment, he almost gave in. Their lips so close that he could almost taste her...  
  
****   
  
Batman jerked himself back to awareness.   
  
"You're acting like a teenager with a hot crush," he said severely. If Catwoman   
broke into Grimalkin Gifts and stole the emerald figurine, then beautiful green   
eyes or no, it was his job to bring her in.   
  
Without further hesitation, Batman immerged from the shadows, crossed over to   
the rooftop's edge, and leaped.  
  
****  
  
She watched from a safe distance. As always, her heart rate increased noticeably   
as she studied each of his careful, deliberate movements--a minimalist's dream.   
She wondered why he was out on this particular night. The frigid temperatures   
were such that her whiskers showed a distinct sheen from a thin layer of ice.   
Her exposed skin felt numb.  
  
Who could Batman possibly be after on Christmas Eve? She checked her shoulder   
carryall, and pulling out an exquisite emerald crystalline cat, smiled in self-  
satisfaction.   
  
"I guess he knows already," she said softly. "And he'll be coming after me.   
Purrrfect..."  
  
Carefully wrapping the figurine in a soft chamois cloth, she placed it back in   
her leather case. Inexplicably, she wondered what a Christmas Eve would be like   
sitting by a roaring fire, safely snuggled within the warmth of his cape.   
Thinking about his intense stare and extreme masculine nearness the last time   
he'd caught her, she suddenly shivered.  
  
"Time to go home, Selina," she murmured. Hearing a muffled roar of a high-  
powered engine from several floors below, she grinned suddenly as an idea took   
hold. The night was young, the Bat was on the prowl, and she was just the cat to   
give him the chance to be naughty or nice.   
  
She was suddenly suffused by a warm tingle as she remembered his touch. "I   
*definitely* prefer 'naughty,'" she added.  
  
Giving a throaty laugh, the Catwoman cracked her whip, caught a gargoyle, and   
swung into the night.  
  
****  
  
"No, please!" the woman cried. "Those presents are for my children!"  
  
"Presents, huh?" the young hood asked. "We *like* presents! Don't we, Davey?"  
  
"We sure do, Tony. This lady sure is nice to be giving us presents."  
  
"Yeah, man. A regular Santa's helper."   
  
The two hulking thugs moved in closer to the cowering woman with each word. By   
now, she was trapped, her back literally against the wall, the two men blocking   
her.  
  
"No, please," she whispered. "Please--"  
  
"You like presents?" a low, menacing growl said from behind them. "Why don't you   
take *this* instead?"   
  
Tony and Davey whirled around. A cold fist gripped their insides. There was no   
one in the shadows, just the cold whistling wind carrying the first few flakes   
of snow, indicating the arrival of the expected storm.  
  
"Tony?" Davey whispered. "D-Did you hear s-something?" Before Tony could reply,   
he was struck on the temple by a hard, black object that seemed to come at him   
out of nowhere.  
  
"Unngh--!" Tony cried, falling to the icy sidewalk below, unconscious.  
  
"Tony--!?" Davey cried, frightened, beginning to back away. "Please! Whoever you   
are--look, I'm going, okay? Please--! Don't hurt me!" As he backed off, Davey's   
voice took on a whiny, pleading quality. About to turn and run, he smacked   
straight into a solid wall.  
  
Tony squealed in terror. Before him stood a dark, towering figure--a monster   
from his childhood nightmares. The creature grabbed him by the collar and   
casually lifted him off the ground.  
  
"I'm on Santa Watch tonight," the grim form growled. "I'm keeping an eye out for   
anyone who's being naughty. Santa *hates* 'naughty.'"   
  
With that, Davey felt himself being powerfully flung backwards. Screaming in   
abject terror, he landed on his rear-end and slid out-of-control for several   
feet, until he slammed headfirst against a brick wall.  
  
Davey's screams died instantly as he was knocked unconscious.  
  
The woman meanwhile cowered along the wall, edging towards a recessed doorway.   
When she saw that the menacing, shadowy shape was now turned towards her, she   
froze in her tracks. Too frightened to move, too terrorized to scream, her knees   
suddenly gave way. She slid down, her back still to the wall, onto the ice-  
covered sidewalk.  
  
"Please, don't hurt me," she whimpered. "My little girl's only two. My son--he   
hasn't gotten over his daddy's death, yet. Please...they need me."  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," Batman said softly. "I promise."  
  
But his deep voice and intimidating form only served to frighten the poor woman   
further. As he took a step towards her, she began to sob quietly, pleading over   
and over for him to not to hurt her.  
  
Batman hesitated. Sometimes he regretted his choice of symbol. While the Bat was   
intended to frighten criminals, it also served at times to horrify the very ones   
whom he had sworn to protect.  
  
"He won't hurt you," another voice spoke. Batman and the woman turned towards   
the lithe figure that emerged from the shadows, the light flakes swirling around   
her.   
  
"Catwoman," Batman growled. "What are you up to?" At his threatening tone, the   
frightened woman gasped again.  
  
"Please," she called, addressing Catwoman. "Please, help me." Catwoman glared at   
Batman and then turned towards the cowering woman. She immediately crouched down   
to her level, and gently brushed the woman's hair back from her face as if she   
were a child.  
  
"I know he looks pretty scary," she said, jerking her head towards Batman. "But   
he's really one of the good guys." She gave Batman a wry look. "Rats like   
*that*--!" She nodded towards Davey and Tony. "--They get what's coming to   
them." She smiled at the woman. "Nice ladies like you, he does everything in his   
power to help out."  
  
"H-How do you know--?" the woman asked. "H-He's so-so--"  
  
"Frightening?"  
  
The woman nodded. Catwoman smiled reassuringly and asked, "By the way, what's   
your name?"  
  
"Emily," she managed. "Emily Gondal."   
  
"Emily," Catwoman repeated. "That's a lovely name. Emily Bronte is my favorite   
writer." Jerking her head in Batman's direction, she added wryly, "Of course,   
Heathcliff could've taken lessons from *this* guy on people-skills." Seeing the   
smallest flicker of a smile cross Emily's eyes, Catwoman squeezed her hand in   
gentle reassurance.   
  
"In answer to your question, I know that our Dark Knight here likes to help   
people, because--well, you see...sometimes I'm one of the ones he chases." The   
woman's eyes widened. "Oh, it's all right. A girl's gotta have *some* excitement   
in her life."  
  
"Catwoman!" Batman voice carried a warning. She laughed, a low, throaty laugh.  
  
"Oh, don't get your Bat-thermal knickers all in a twist, Batman," Catwoman said   
dismissively. She turned back to Emily. "As I was saying, I know that he's a   
good guy, but not just because of the rats he's caught, or the people he's   
helped. I know he's a good man because of the people who follow him."  
  
"I don't understand," Emily said, her voice shaking nervously.  
  
"His boys," Catwoman said. "His boys would follow him to the ends of the Earth.   
Especially the older one. The way that older one looks at him--as if the sun   
rose and set around him--when I first saw that look, I thought the boy had a bad   
case of hero worship. Now--now I see that it's more than that. Much more."   
Catwoman turned and looked up at Batman.  
  
"The older boy, the one you call 'Nightwing'--loyalty is *not* the primary   
reason he follows you, is it? It's *love*. That boy's your son, isn't he?"  
  
Emily slowly looked up at Batman. "Is that true? You have a son, too?"  
  
Batman took a tentative step forward. "Yes, Emily. I have a son, too. A long   
time ago, something happened to him, something terrible. Helping others is a way   
he's learned to cope with the pain of that tragedy."  
  
She studied him, uncertainty lighting her features. Finally, a glimmer of   
understanding took hold of her. "And you? Do you help others to ease your pain?"   
she asked.  
  
Batman held her eyes for a long moment, and finally, he nodded.  
  
"Yes," he said softly. "Please, let me help you."  
  
Nodding, the woman slowly held her hand out to him. When she'd regained her   
feet, she looked around to thank her second benefactor.  
  
"She's gone!" she exclaimed. "I wanted to thank her." Taking her arm, Batman   
escorted Emily to where he'd parked the Batmobile.  
  
"Don't worry," Batman said reassuringly. "She's around."  
  
****  
  
The blizzard was picking up. The super-turbocharged vehicle's wipers worked   
overtime trying to keep the windshield clear of the rapidly falling flakes. It   
was almost four. In a few hours, Dick would be home. As he headed back to the   
manor, Batman's mind went back over the evening's activities...   
  
****  
  
He escorted Emily home, seeing her safely inside. Back in the Batmobile, he   
remotely accessed the supercomputers in the Batcave and rapidly ran a check on   
Emily Gondal. Within moments, he found her bank account, and quickly made a   
funds transfer into it.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Emily," he murmured.  
  
Afterwards, he spent a couple of hours trailing Catwoman, retracing her steps,   
following every slim lead he could find. Not surprisingly, she'd already given   
him the slip. Standing on one of the twin gothic towers of Gotham Cathedral, his   
cape whipping around him, Batman finally decided to call it a night.   
  
The dropping temperatures and winter storm had won out.   
  
"Next time, Catwoman," he promised. He fired a jumpline and disappeared into the   
swirling snow...  
  
****  
  
Driving through the holograph that camouflaged the entrance to the Batcave,   
Batman thought about the enigmatic Catwoman. He was honest enough with himself   
to admit that he was glad he wouldn't be escorting her to jail that night. He   
thought about how she'd helped to dispel Emily's fears. How she knew that   
Nightwing was his son.   
  
Parking the Batmobile in its hangar, Batman sat for a moment, staring at   
nothing, seeing Catwoman's emerald eyes smiling up at him. Inexplicably, he   
wondered what an evening might be like spent sitting by a roaring fire with her   
in his arms. He pushed back the cowl, instantly changing back into Bruce Wayne.   
  
Remembering the Grimalkin Gifts' robbery that evening, Bruce suddenly felt very   
tired. No matter how he might feel abut her, it was his duty to bring her to   
justice. Sighing, he opened the driver's side door and climbed out. He was about   
to shut it, when something on the rear floorboards caught his attention.  
  
Eyes narrowing, he reached into the narrow space behind the bucket seats and   
pulled out a well-worn carryall. It was black leather with an extra-long   
shoulder strap. A strange feeling washing over him, Bruce opened the front flap   
with numb fingers.  
  
Searching the inside, he closed his fingers around something hard, wrapped   
inside a soft cloth. When he pulled out the object, a piece of paper fluttered   
out and landed between his feet. Bending down, Bruce picked up the paper and   
unfolded it.  
  
A note was written on it in a lovely feminine hand: "Merry Christmas, darling.   
Perhaps another night."--C.W.  
  
Holding the note in one hand, Bruce quickly unwrapped the object he'd pulled out   
of the bag. The muted lighting in the Batcave caught the ethereal beauty of the   
emerald crystalline Maltese cat. Bruce held it up, its many facets reflecting   
the light.  
  
A half-smile playing on his lips, Bruce headed upstairs. It looked like today   
*would* be a Merry Christmas, after all.  
  
"Yes, Catwoman. Perhaps another night."  
  
****  
  
The End  
####  
Happy Holidays to you and yours!  
  



End file.
